


Treaty Negotiations

by marguerite_26



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Bottoming from the Top, Druids, M/M, Politics, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-23
Updated: 2012-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-04 04:39:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marguerite_26/pseuds/marguerite_26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the face of his people’s suffering, Arthur turns to the druids to see if a treaty with magic users can secure his kingdom’s future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Treaty Negotiations

**Author's Note:**

> For Round 2 of [](http://glomp-fest.livejournal.com/profile)[**glomp_fest**](http://glomp-fest.livejournal.com/)
> 
> written for [](http://kittie8571.livejournal.com/profile)[**kittie8571**](http://kittie8571.livejournal.com/)  
>  Thank you to my betas [](http://novemberlite.livejournal.com/profile)[**novemberlite**](http://novemberlite.livejournal.com/) and [](http://nympha-alba.livejournal.com/profile)[**nympha_alba**](http://nympha-alba.livejournal.com/).

Arthur stood at the top of the steps with Leon at his side. Together they watched the courtyard fill with people. The red capes of Camelot’s knights formed a line separating the lower town’s peasants and the contingent of druids entering Camelot’s citadel. Walking three abreast and ten deep as they approached the castle, the druids were barely more than two dozen men but they captured every eye. They were hooded, wearing muted brown and black cloaks, and walked a slow pace, seemingly undisturbed by their audience.

All around them, the eyes of the town folk were nervous, fearful. Arthur stiffened as a young girl held out a flower in offering to the visitors, only to be wrenched back by her mother. The women looked up the steps to where he stood, her jaw set. He wasn’t sure if the act was a misguided attempt to show her allegiance to her king who had yet to revoke the ban on magic, or if she was showing defiance at allowing such people into Camelot.

“Sire, are you certain inviting the druids into the citadel is the best course of action?” Leon whispered. “Perhaps these talks could better be conducted outside the castle walls.”

“If we are going accept the druids’ offer of help, we need our people to begin to accept.”  
Arthur’s eyes never left the approaching men. In his peripheral vision, Arthur could see Leon scan the courtyard, taking in the faces of the ever growing crowd.

“The people are wary.”

“Indeed,” Arthur said, making an effort not to show his own concern. “But the snow has barely begun to melt and the reported death toll since Solstice has surpassed any on record.” The drought Camelot had suffered the summer before meant livestock had dwindled and the grain stores hadn’t been enough to carry most families through the long winter.

“It’s not your fault.”

Arthur began his descent of the stairs to greet the approaching druids. Their people knew the land. They had read the signs warning of the mercilessly hot summer to come and had prepared. They hadn’t lost single member of their tribe that winter, Arthur had been told. He turned to Leon, and whispered, “No. It wasn’t my fault. But it is up to me to ensure it does not happen again.”

As he reached the bottom of the steps, his chest ached at the thought of what his father would say were he alive to know of his successor’s betrayal. Arthur was his own man, and the druids offered more than Arthur could in good conscience refuse. Algaar, the druid who’d first made contact, beginning the chain of events, stepped into Arthur’s line of sight. He nodded, his eyes bright and pleased; Arthur’s chest loosened.

It had been only a few weeks before when Arthur had led a team of knights to survey the outlying villages and discovered the devastation winter had left behind. Travelling the path home, hearts heavy, the Druid Elder had stepped onto the path and stood in front of their group. He’d offered his sympathy, but also something that had felt impossible that cold, rainy day: hope.

“King Arthur Pendragon,” Algaar said, bowing. In his outstretched hand, he offered Arthur a small wooden box. “This is a token of good fortune to you, the Once and Future King.”

Arthur blinked at the odd title, unsure what to make of it but too well-trained to give more than a moment’s hesitation. The box was light, fitting easily into the palm of his hand. He flipped opened the lid, and inside was a golden beetle, no bigger than his thumb.

“It is a scarab beetle,” Algaar offered. “In the desert countries it is said to represent immortality.”

Arthur lifted the delicate piece, watching the sun glint off the bright gold.

“That you may fulfil your destiny in this life and the next,” Alvaar explained.

Arthur felt a prickle at his nape at the confusing words and the intensity in the druid’s pale eyes. Wrong-footed, he simply nodded, accepting the gift and motioning for his manservant to take it.

“Thank you, it will be given a place of honour.” Arthur raised his voice to be heard by the people gathered. “All of Camelot bids you welcome. We hold great hope for the success of our newfound friendship.”

Algaar smiled and nodded his approval at the words. Behind him, the reaction was mixed. Arthur saw a few other druids watching intently, satisfied looks in their eyes. Others were more stoic, and some with their heads bent and faces still hidden by their hoods.

“Well, let us get you settled.” He clasped his hand to Algaar’s shoulder, a clear message to all those who watched that their king held no fear of these people. He led the group up the steps where the team of servants waited to show them to their rooms.

“This is George,” Arthur waved his manservant forward. “He will see to your needs during your stay. Your trip has been long. You can rest now and we can speak more at tonight’s banquet in your honour.”

~o~

That night the introductions were a blur. Arthur could only nod and do his best to connect faces to names. The druids appeared in every respect to be a plain, simple people; their clothing was drab colours and harsh wools, very little distinguishing one person from the next except for the uniqueness the tattoos visible on their hands and wrists, peeking out of their collars.

The knights seemed to fare no better. Arthur saw them more than once exchanging looks of uncertainty as they attempted to engage the visitors in talk of hunts and the excitement of chasing wild boars. It seemed the druids had other methods of capturing their quarry, if their blank stares in response were anything to go by.

The banquet itself was hardly a feast, though there were no whisperings of surprise or discontent among the guests. They knew of Camelot’s struggles, and while last week’s hunt had procured them a hart for this banquet, they had little else to offer. Nevertheless, there was enough wine and chatter that tension eased between the two parties and Arthur deemed the first evening a success.

As Arthur bid the druids his goodnight, Algaar clasped his elbow and, pale eyes soft and and content, whispered, “Thank you again for your acceptance of our gifts, and for indulging our ways which must seem so foreign to you.”

Arthur had nodded and made his way back to his chambers with a lighter heart than he’d woken with that morning. Treaty discussion would begin the next day and he had reason to be hopeful.

In his chambers, the candles were lit and the fire stole away the chill of the corridor from Arthur’s bones. He wasn’t sure when his manservant had found the time, as he’d been assigned to Algaar’s side for the duration of the visit. George must have passed on the duty to another servant, in yet another display of his truly frightening efficiency. The mystery only increased when Arthur spotted a servant he’d never seen before stoking the fire.

The man stood and Arthur’s eyes widened at the intricate tattoos adorning his forearms. They wound from the back of his hands, up his wrists in a thin band of black, swirling about symbols and disappearing up his arm to where the sleeves of his tunic had been rolled at the elbow.

“Your highness.” The man dropped to one knee, head lowered, a sign of servitude Arthur hadn’t seen in any other druid that night. They had bowed politely, but never so deeply as to break eye contact.

“What are you doing in my rooms?” Arthur demanded, voice sharp.

“I am to be your seeshana, My Lord.” The druid man stood and bowed again -- yet when he raised his head, there was no submission in the deep blue eyes that stared back at Arthur.

Arthur’s curiosity rose. “What is a _seeshana_?”

The man grinned, looking far too cheeky for Arthur to believe the earlier deference was anything but a ploy to give Arthur a moment to calm himself before the intruder was given a chance to explain.

“A seeshana is a part of traditional druid negotiations. I am here to ease the burden of the stressful talks.” The man’s eyes lit with meaning and Arthur’s eyes widened at his boldness. The druid he’d met had seemed soft spoken, emotions tucked way, as muted as their appearance.

Arthur looked the man over. He was thin and tall, his black hair cropped short in messy spikes. He had a pleasing sort of oddness, intelligent eyes and pretty lips but Arthur did not take bed warmers, and certainly not from the servants of his guests. “I don’t think that will necessary.”

The man appeared unperturbed. He smiled. “Did you not assign your own manservant to our Elder?”

“Not for...” The man raised an eyebrow and Arthur stammered, “We do not hand out our servants for our guests’ _pleasure_.”

Face softening, the druid seemed strangely pleased -- with Arthur words or his discomfort, Arthur wasn’t sure. “I am neither a servant nor a whore,” he explained, then he knelt at Arthur’s feet in complete opposition to his words.

Arthur stepped back, face hot.

“Ah, right.” The man stood, a little flushed. “With your permission, sire. I only wanted to remove your boots. I have scented oil for your feet. It is intensely rejuvenating.”

“That will not be necessary.” Arthur walked past him, adding, “You may go.”

“That’s not possible, Sire. I’m sure Algaar explained the importance of my role. The gift of a seeshana is one of our oldest traditions.”

Thinking back on the evenings conversations, Arthur frowned. He recalled talk of the treaty negotiations and how the druid people appreciated Arthur respecting their _unusual_ demands. Arthur was certain he’d heard the word _seeshana_ at some point during Algaar’s speech about traditions. He remembered nodding without quite knowing the meaning but taking the request in good faith, the wine and the unexpected success of the proceedings so far making him more complacent then he might usually be.

Arthur caught the druid man watching him closely with his eyes narrowed, calculating only for the look to be quickly schooled away. Arthur’s gut told him the weight of this decision was more than it appeared. It wouldn’t do to begin tomorrow’s talks by having to explain away the insult of refusing this _seeshana’s_ presence in his room.

Resigned, Arthur crossed the room to sit by the fire. “What’s your name,” he asked.

“Merlin, Sire,” he said, face brightening as though Arthur had handed him the keys to the kingdom by not tossing him out the door. Merlin scrambled to the fire, showing a clumsiness that looked unusual for a druid, who had all been calm and careful in both words and manner. It made Arthur wonder that such a man would be given this particular task.

Merlin lifted a large shallow pot that had been placed by the hearth. As he set it down at Arthur’s feet, the scent of oil, lavender and mint drifted upwards.

“Sire, if I may?” Merlin’s hand hovered over the laces of his boots.

Arthur hesitated. He’d had servants dress and undress him all his life. They’d bathed him, shaved him and tended him while he was sick. He felt little shame in being touched by a pair of competent hands. But there was something far more intimate in this offering. This strange man with his quick smile and eyes that bore into Arthur in a way that implied something Arthur didn’t understand. His options were limited, however; the negotiations had not yet begun and the partnership between Camelot and the druids was still tentative.

Arthur gave a wary nod. Merlin flashed a guileless smile and fought with the laces, slipping off Arthur’s boots and then his socks, yanking awkwardly with none of George’s practiced ease.

Arthur’s toes curled instinctively at the chill of the stone underfoot.

Lifting one foot, Merlin slowly dipped it into the scented oil. Arthur gasped at the heat, just shy of too hot. “Merlin!” he said, the new name rolling off his tongue with ease.

“Give it a moment, Sire,” Merlin replied, unconcerned at hearing the king snap his name. He didn’t even look up but continued to roll the hem of Arthur’s breeches until the cuff was a tight band at his knee. “You’ll get used to it.”

Arthur bit back a retort about cooking the King of Camelot, but the heat faded quickly enough and the luxury of warm, thick oil on his callused feet was like nothing he’d felt before. His second foot joined the first, no less shocking as Merlin slowly dropped it in. The pot was big enough to comfortably fit both feet, with oil rising to cover almost to his ankle.

“Feet are so often neglected.” Merlin spoke in barely a whisper as he lifted the first foot and began to rub downward with his thumbs running over the bridge and his fingers adding pressure to the bottom as he squeezed from Arthur’s ankle to his toes in long strokes. “The feet are connected to every part of us in some way, our spines, our eyes, our heads. They deserve to be well cared for.”

He went on, speaking in soft tones, talking of anatomy and connectivity. Arthur let the words wash over him; he cared little of medicine. Merlin changed the massage every few minutes and Arthur felt the heat spread upward to warm his entire body. Arthur moaned, low rumble in his chest, as Merlin pressed both his thumbs sharply into the instep with surprising strength.

”Too hard?” Merlin asked.

Arthur looked down to see his face flushed and was relieved the druid didn’t have a servant’s blank expression while Arthur’s head swam with the heady scent of the oil and Merlin’s bewitching hands.

“No. It’s perfect,” Arthur said, voice thick. That earned him a smile. “Are there no enchantments in this?”

“We are here in good faith, Your Highness. This treaty is in everyone’s best interest. Using magic on you would be a betrayal of your trust and a barrier against our common goal for peace.” He kept eye contact through every word, as though willing Arthur to understand his sincerity. “You have my word, this is nothing but oil and common herbs.” He took the back of his knuckle and rubbed it against the bottom of each toe. Changing the topic, he began to describe cures from headaches and other ailments by this simple process.

“You do not speak like a servant.”

“Did I ever say I was servant?” Merlin asked, amused.

Arthur sighed at this strange man and let his eyes close. He focused instead on his long talented fingers. Merlin had finished with Arthur’s toes and was working the pad of Arthur’s foot with both thumbs, in tiny circular motions, a mesmerizing rhythm that let the tension of the day dissipate.

At some point Merlin finished the first foot and began on the second. Arthur wondered if Merlin could teach this to George, but that train of thought was far too disturbing, especially given his body’s current _appreciation_ for the druid’s attentions. If Merlin realised the effect the stimulation was having, he made no hint of it. Arthur simply entwined his fingers over his lap, blocking his reaction the best he could and hoped it would go unnoticed.

He was half asleep in his chair when Merlin finally finished off the second foot, working top and bottom at the same time with long, feather-light strokes. He rotated the ankle gently, first one way and then the next before grabbing a towel and wiping each foot clean. Without a word, he offered a shoulder to lean on as Arthur stumbled towards his bed.

Still boneless, Arthur prepared himself for bed and Merlin went about the room silently snuffing the candles. He banked the fire and slipped out the door with a quick goodnight.

That night Arthur dreamt of swirling tattoos and symbols he did not understand. When he woke, the room still held a soft scent of lavender, and Arthur’s skin tingled at the memory.

He shook it off, refocusing on the day at hand. It wouldn’t do to get distracted.

~o~

The Elders met with Arthur and his advisors early the next morning in the council chambers. There were a dozen in all gathered around the table. Four men sat to Algaar’s left and to his right, sat an older woman. Her face was worn and crusted like old leather. They treated her with the utmost respect. _Dalga_ they called her, though Arthur wasn’t sure if it was a title or a name, either way he knew her favour was essential for this treaty to proceed. He took to watching her eyes as talks began so he could spot the issues before they escalated.

Arthur’s half of the table held the balancing six, including Leon and Geoffrey of Monmouth. He’d also asked Gaius to sit in as his court physician. Arthur not only considered him a trusted adviser but as a former magic user, Arthur wanted him there as a link to what had once been permitted under Camelot’s laws what would be again.

The first topic, naturally, was an immediate repeal of the ban on magic. It came as no surprise that their stance was a hard line and non-negotiable. In their minds, magic could not be outlawed if they were to come to any kind of agreement. Arthur listened to their demands, humming non-committal noises and asking detailed questions without quite agreeing to anything out-right.

The night he’d first met Algaar had opened Arthur’s mind to many things. Arthur had invited him to share the warmth of their fire as the patrol made camp and Algaar had sat in the circle with Arthur and his knights, talking long into the night about a better world where men did not needlessly die of hunger or on the pyre. He believed he would see this world in his lifetime. Arthur had offered no encouragement for the words that bordered on treason, but he had no heart to arrest a man who was only passing through the lands in order to offer his condolences and a few words of hope.

He’d met with Algaar six more times before they’d come to this point.

There was no question in Arthur’s mind that he was prepared to repeal the ban, and would never have got himself to the table with druids if that weren’t the case, but Arthur also knew that it was his largest -- _only_ \-- bargaining chip and these negotiations were just in their infancy. He would commit only when he needed to.

After about an hour of making little headway, Dalga began speaking in rushed, unimpressed tones to Algaar. Arthur rose to fill a cup of water to give them a moment and something in the corner of the room caught his eye. Seated on a high stool by the door sat the druid who’d invaded his chambers the night before. That morning, Merlin had served him breakfast, bursting into his chambers with a tray and a smile as though he’d done so every day for years. Merlin, it seemed, was determined to be everywhere... including locked negotiations rooms.

He waved to Arthur, grin on his face. Arthur rolled his eyes, filled himself a cup and decided to find out a little more about this odd man.

Upon returning to the table, Arthur turned to Algaar. “Should we make room at the table for one more?” He kept his voice level, watching the druid’s reactions carefully.

Algaar’s face told him far more than a direct question might have. His mouth opened slightly as he pulled away from the discussion with Dalga to follow Arthur’s gaze to the door. His lips pressed in a thin, nervous line. The two, Algaar and Merlin, exchanged a long look, both eyes intent on the other as though they could read minds. Perhaps they could, because Merlin’s silly grin turned a fraction _sly_.

Algaar broke the eye contact first, nodding to himself or to Merlin, Arthur wasn’t sure. Though his curiosity was piqued as to how and why this servant -- not a servant, he reminded himself -- seemed to warrant anything more than a swift removal from a discussion to which he was not invited.

“He will stay, Your Highness.” Algaar raised his eyes to Arthur with an uncertain flicker that said he hoped Arthur wouldn’t ask for details. “With your permission, of course.”

Arthur considered the request. It was hardly something to stir the pot over, not when there may be a concession down the road he’d be less willing to make. And Algaar looked uncomfortable with Merlin’s unorthodox behaviour, which Arthur could easily understand, but there were no hints of anything more sinister in the works.

“Shall he be joining the table, then?” Arthur fought to keep in the incredulous lilt from his voice.

“No. But thank you, Sire,” Merlin interjected, though the question hadn’t been addressed to him. “I’m just fine here where I can come and go as I like.”

Arthur’s eyes widened but before he could shoot back a retort at Merlin presumptions, Algaar cleared his throat and began back into the timing requirements for the repeal of the ban.

Eventually, Arthur forgot Merlin’s presence. Some moments he would remember and look over to find the stool empty, other times Merlin would be staring, chin in hand as though this were a play that had captured his interest.

At midday, servants paraded in with trays of meat and bread and cheese with Merlin trailing behind with a plate of dried fruit. It was hardly a banquet, far more meagre than the -- albeit unimpressive -- feast from the night before. But the druids were well aware that the winter had been hard on everyone and even now, on the eve of spring, Camelot’s people scrambled to feed themselves. If they felt the spread was unworthy of being served to guests, the druids made no comment.

Arthur guessed that while they had found ways to keep their own harvest plentiful enough to feed their people, they still understood hunger.

~o~

After another few hours of arguing over the details on the timing and the extent of repealing the ban the party separated, opting to dine in their own rooms. Arthur interpreted that as the druids needing time without Arthur present to discuss the progress they were making, or lack thereof.

Arthur wasn’t concerned. Tomorrow they would make more headway. The first topic would be the druids’ ability to improve a harvest, and that would be when Arthur became more (or less) flexible, depending on their answers.

It was not long after Arthur returned to his chambers that Merlin appeared with a tray. He set it down in front of Arthur: a loaf of bread, a single slice of ham and a small chunk of cheese.

Merlin sat at Arthur’s side, the table empty in front of him.

“You’re a very strange guest, Merlin.” Arthur frowned, shaking his head in confusion. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

“I am seeshana, not a guest,” he said, stubbornly, and a heartbeat later he broke into a smile. “Besides, I ate with your kitchen staff.”

“I see.” Arthur ripped off some bread and dipped it into a bit of honey that Cook always added to the edge of his plate.

“You know, your servants think highly of you.”

Arthur shrugged. “I am their king.”

“One does not imply the other.”

“Is that what you did today when you weren’t sitting in our highly confidential negotiations? You wandered around talking to servants?”

Merlin smirked. “Some information can’t be found at a table of nobles, all with their own interests at stake.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes but Merlin met his gaze, chin raised. He wondered at this simpleton who spoke so wisely, and with so little tact. He decided to test the waters of what this man knew. After all, he was respected enough by the Elders to be allowed to sit in on the negotiations and if he could gather information about Arthur from the servants, Arthur could probe for information about the druids from this seeshana.

“I am only sorry I have so little indulgences to offer your people,” Arthur said, choosing his words carefully and watching Merlin’s reaction.

“We’re not here to be entertained,” Merlin said. “Dalga teaches that any host who gives generously of what he has should be appreciated for his selflessness.”

Arthur nodded at the compliment.

After a moment’s silence, Merlin eyed Arthur slyly. “But perhaps you mean to imply something else?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Arthur lied.

“I have magic.”

Arthur cleared his throat, still not entirely comfortable, despite his readiness to revoke the ban. “I assumed as much.”

“At your request, I could double your plate. You could go to bed with your belly full and your mind will be clear tomorrow for the negotiations. I am your seeshana. I can do this for you.”

Arthur’s eyebrows rose, not expecting so direct an offer. His hopes tended towards plentiful harvests and healthy livestock, not food _appearing_ on his plate. Talk of such power was intoxicating. “At my word, you would do this?”

“Yes.” Merlin bent his head in a slow bow. The way his smile dropped set Arthur immediately on edge. “But there is a cost.”

“Cost?” Camelot’s purse was full, but there had been no food to buy for any amount of gold this winter. “Our treasury is more plentiful than our food stores.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Every act of magic is tied to a cost. The cost of power from the sorcerer, but sometimes there is a more tangible cost. But never _gold_.”

“And what would be the _cost_ of filling my belly?”

“I cannot create food. The food would be taken in almost imperceivable amounts from the stores available to your kingdom.”

Arthur’s expression hardened as he began to understand. He chewed another chunk of dry bread, needing a gulp of wine to swallow it down. “I am already served more than most.”

“Yes, Sire.” Merlin stood and bowed. As he went to check the fire, Arthur spotted the glint of approval in his eye.

~o~

After Arthur finished his meal, they sat by the fire and talked. Merlin rattled on, retelling some stories he’d heard in the kitchens: how no rats lived in the castle any longer because of the lack of food over the winter. Fortunately, Merlin stopped short when he saw Arthur’s face which must have easily communicated that he did not need reminding of how his people suffered.

“Your kingdom is resourceful in the face of adversity. You should be proud.”

“I’ll be proud when my people are thriving and happy, not waiting for the ground to soften enough to bury their dead.”

“What is it you want most from the druids, Sire, if not to fill your plate?”

Arthur stared at the fire. After a long time, he finally said, “Knowledge.” He lifted his eyes to meet Merlin’s. “Your people know mysteries of the earth that we cannot fathom. You cannot teach us magic, but you can help us to prepare.”

“Though, I’ll admit,” Arthur said, pausing in to take a long sip of wine while Merlin stayed silent, his eyes never shifting from Arthur, “Camelot had been without magic so long we don’t know how it works any longer. Can you make it rain if the sun burns the crops that are needed to feed thousands?”

He heard the click of Merlin’s swallow.

“Yes,” Merlin said, barely over a whisper and voice hoarse with emotion.

Arthur was stopped from asking what Merlin meant by a knock on his door.

“Enter.”

John appeared, a familiar pot in his hand. “Gaius said you would need this tonight.”

Arthur looked out the window to see it had already begun to rain. Merlin’s company must have been diverting if he missed the tell-tale ache in his back.

“I’ll just be a moment.” He nodded to John, and then turned to Merlin to say, “If you’ll excuse us.” He went behind the screen to strip off his tunic, as he always did when John brought the ointment. When he returned shirtless, only Merlin remained in the room.

“I said I would take care of it,” Merlin explained.

“There’s no need. John would do well enough. He’s the assistant to the court physician.”

“And I am your seeshana.”

“And I’m starting to think,” Arthur said, letting a hint of amusement creep into his voice, “that you say that only because I don’t know what it means.”

“I think,” Merlin replied, stepping forward, his eyes lit with humour, “that Camelot is blessed with a very wise king.”

Arthur snorted at the outrageousness of such an admission wrapped in a compliment.

Merlin lifted the pot of salve and sniffed, and Arthur found himself staring at the black vines that wound around Merlin’s knuckles.

“Your physician makes this?”

“Gaius, yes,” Arthur said, curious. “Is there something wrong?”

“No. Not at all. He seems to have a good grasp of the use of herbs for healing. May I ask what this is for?”

“My lower back, an old injury bothers me when the weather is damp.” He instinctively touched the small of his back, running his fingers along the raised line of the scar.

Merlin caught the movement, but rather than look away his gaze lingered, trailing over Arthur’s bare chest. His eyes darkened in a way Arthur understood perfectly and he indulged in the warmth of the appraisal.

Merlin smelled the ointment again, letting his eyes close as he recited the ingredients to himself. “Almond oil. Wintergreen. Lobelia and... yes, a hint of guelder rose.” He opened his eyes again, nodding. “Does it help?”

Arthur lifted a shoulder, trying for flippant. “Well enough.” If it rained through the night, which was likely, using the salve meant he would be able to sit at the negotiating table without constant pain.

“I’ve made you uncomfortable.” Merlin set down the pot. “The druids are open about our injuries so we can be healed.”

“With magic?”

“Sometimes,” Merlin said, thoughtful. “But not always. This is a fine temporary reprieve from pain.”

“Good,” Arthur said, pleased Gaius’ simple remedies were found adequate. “What shall we do now that you’ve chased away John?”

“I’m your seeshana.”

“So you keep saying.” Arthur shook his head through a breathy laugh. “If you’re determined.” He flopped on his bed, face down. “Well, seeshana, work your magic.”

Merlin paused. “Sire?”

Arthur thought back on his words and cursed. “I meant figuratively.”

“Of course.” Merlin sat on the edge of the bed, placing the pot on the bedside table. “Unless you’d like to see if I could heal the damage permanently?”

“No.” Arthur replied, his voice muffled with his pillow. “That won’t be necessary. Just the salve.”

Merlin sighed. His hands were warm. They slid smoothly across the base of Arthur’s spine and the room filled with the familiar scent of Gaius’ salve.

“What happened?” Merlin’s fingers danced over the raised scar. Arthur couldn’t feel the difference in the touch, but he knew the spot well enough by now. He’d never forget.

“I got caught looking the wrong way,” he said simply.

Merlin hummed and said nothing for a long while, digging his fingers into Arthur’s muscles as he had the night before with Arthur’s feet. Arthur let himself get lost in the rhythm of the long strokes and the pleasant tingle travelling from outwards from Merlin’s touch up his spine and down his legs until even his fingertips felt it.

“Maybe you need someone watching your back?”

It took a moment for Arthur to understand, having lost the thread of conversation in the haze of the massage. When he did, he had no answer anyway. He let his eyes falls shut. John would be done by now; Arthur doubted Merlin would be finished so quickly. The pressure was significant, only a shade under too much. Merlin dug his thumbs into each side of his spine, pushing down and out. Arthur exhaled, feeling his body turn to clay in Merlin’s hands, knowing he was already hard and not in a position for making the clear-headed judgements.

“I do wonder about your role here, Merlin,” Arthur said, shaking himself from his daze. “This _seeshana_ could be seen as a perfect position for manipulation. It would seem a king might agree to anything under your talented fingers.”

Merlin’s hands only paused a moment, before he answered. “I don’t believe you are that king. Nor do I believe that you honestly think I have any influence over you, or you wouldn’t allow the privileges you’ve given me.”

Arthur let out a frustrated huff at the well chosen answer.

Merlin dipped lower, the heel of his hand moving just below his tailbone in light, slow circles. Arthur’s hips rolled forward at the flare of heat pooling in his groin. The friction of the mattress against his cock stole a moan from between his lips.

“Perhaps you think too highly of my restraint,” he rasped. Merlin paused at that, like Arthur’s words forced him to realise how intimate the moment was and Arthur wished the words back.

Merlin finished then. When he rose, his voice was low, strained as he whispered, “Goodnight, Sire.”

Arthur remained as he was, too tired to even take himself in hand after the door closed behind Merlin. He fell asleep face down, his hard cock pinned beneath him. He dreamt of long fingers with tattooed knuckles digging into rich soil. He dreamt of fields abundant with crop and plates overflowing with the finest food.

~o~

Arthur woke hard once again, his body tight with the tension of arousal, and he was annoyed to see Merlin already setting down breakfast, making it impossible to find any relief. Arthur scowled at his quick grin and chirpy, “Good morning, Sire.” Arthur noticed he still said the title like he was testing it out, possibly finding it amusing.

“You may go.”

“Sire,” Merlin said, not leaving. “I left your clothes out by your bed. And I stole an extra apple for your breakfast from a rather plump looking fellow who I really don’t think needed it.”

“ _Merlin_ , you can’t do that.”

Merlin hummed. “Oh well, too late now.” He flashed a smile that held no guilt whatsoever.

Arthur snorted and rose to change quickly, in hopes his stiff cock might go unnoticed, only he took too long with his laces.

“Do you need help dressing, Sire?” Merlin asked suddenly at his side. “Oh,” he said glancing down. “I suppose you do.”

The delicate line between intrusive and attentive was completely lost on a seeshana, apparently. “You’re dismissed, Merlin,” Arthur said, voice stiff.

“Please--” Merlin knelt, looking up at Arthur with his eyes wide and sincere. “Sire, if I may?”

Arthur’s face flushed hot and his traitorous eyes went to Merlin’s lips which were already red and plump, wet from gnawing. His fragile hold of his control was near breaking. “I don’t bed servants,” Arthur snapped, accentuating the point by trying to fasten his laces.

“I’m no servant.” Merlin shot back, annoyance reddening his cheeks prettily and he pulled the laces free from Arthur’s hand.

Arthur’s cock thickened as Merlin’s hands tugged his breeches down, pulling then at his smalls until they both pooled at his feet.

“Merlin!”

There was no hesitation. Before Arthur could utter another protest, Merlin’s lips closed around the head of his cock. He slid down the shaft until Arthur felt the panicky flutter of Merlin throat around the head and Merlin pulled back. Merlin swallowed him down again, even deeper, testing his limits further each time. Arthur’s hand buried in his thick, soft hair, overwhelmed that this was happening -- that this druid man was knelt before him with his mouth on his cock. Sweat prickled at his nape as Arthur tried to regain control of himself. He took a calming breath but there was no time to refocus before he felt Merlin lick the tip, merciless little flicks of his tongue against the slit. Arthur gasped, trying to move away, but Merlin was having none of that. The grip on his cock tightened and Merlin went back to lapping each dribble of precome as it leaked.

“Merlin,” Arthur whispered like a curse.

With a throaty laugh, Merlin grabbed both Arthur’s hips, opened his throat and began impaling his own mouth with Arthur’s cock. Arthur cried out at the assault, completely lost in the wet heat of Merlin’s mouth. His hips jerked, rutting into Merlin’s face with involuntary shudders as he finally lost control, spilling himself down Merlin’s throat.

He blinked dumbly, still not quite believing what had just happened. He let Merlin lift and tie his breeches before stepping away. He went to the table and poured a cup a water from the jug Merlin had brought with breakfast, hoping the distance would clear his head.

“I -- I didn’t...” Merlin blurted, voice rough and sounding as wrong-footed as Arthur felt. Arthur turned to see him wiping at his flushed face with his sleeves. “I just... um... I need to go.”

Merlin darted out the door, walking awkwardly and holding the empty tray in front of his breeches.

~o~

Arthur arrived late to the morning negotiations after spending a considerable amount of time staring at his breakfast, lost in thought.

Merlin’s forwardness would be understandable, a natural progression of the clumsy seduction he’d been playing at since appearing, but his flustered regret was completely unexpected. In retrospect, Arthur wouldn’t have been surprised by sweet words meant to secure some decisions favourable to the druids. It was how things were done. Whether or not Arthur complied would depend on the request. He was no slave to his dick, and he suspected Merlin knew that. But instead Merlin had run, _embarrassed_. Finally, Arthur had pushed away his breakfast, pocketed Merlin’s stolen apple and resolved to make his demands of the druids clear.

When he’d entered the council chambers, the group of twelve were assembled already; Merlin was unsurprisingly absent.

“If there are no objections, Algaar,” Arthur said without preamble, “I’d like to get right to the point. Camelot needs help from the druids with healing magic and farming. From what Algaar has explained to me, this kind of magic is a tool that would help the people of this kingdom thrive. We have lived long enough without magic.” As he spoke, the words came strong and clear, and he wondered if he hadn’t quite been certain until that very moment. “If you are willing to discuss the talents you can offer us, I think you will find our discussions on the repeal of the ban will go to your liking.”

The group appeared taken aback by Arthur’s directness, but no one outright voiced an objection. At the end of the table, Gaius nodded his approval of the change in direction.

Algaar turned to the man to his right, looking flustered. “Find Emrys and bring him here.” As the man slipped out the door, Algaar spoke to Arthur. “My apologies, Sire. But we require Emrys for this discussion.”

“Who is Emrys?” Arthur asked, tone flat. He would be unimpressed if this turned out to be a stall tactic by the druids now that Arthur finally laid his demands on the table.

Dalga explained, “The druid people each have their own talents: Algaar has the gift of prophecy, I have discernment. Emrys’ power is elemental. It is he who holds the seasons in the palm of his hand.”

“And while we wait for young Emrys, Lodom will speak to you about the art of healing magic. He has already spoken with your court physician who we know shares a respect for the Old Religion. It may be only a matter of having a druid such as Lodom available to work with Gaius. Maybe one of your own people of Camelot will be revealed to have such talents if the ban is finally lifted and those so valuable to you stop living in fear of their lives.” Dalga gave Arthur a pointed look. “And are instead given places of honour for the gifts they were born with.”

Arthur listened while Lodom, the man seated directly beside Algaar, began to talk of Gaius’ methods, and like Merlin, he found them to be adequate, though shy of what could be accomplished with magic.

While Lodom went on, the man Algaar had sent off returned. Behind him, walked Merlin. It took a fraction of a moment to recognize him. Dressed in a hooded robe rather than a simple tunic, he could pass as any of the many druids Arthur had met and had forgotten the name of.

The hair around Merlin’s temples was dripping, as though he’d just splashed water on his face and had done a poor job cleaning up.

“Emrys,” Algaar said, “I believe you’re needed to answer the king’s questions this morning.”

“Sorry,” Merlin said, his eyes flickering to Arthur’s, “There was something I had to take care of.”

“So your name is Emrys?” Arthur asked, not willing to let such a lie go unnoted. It was on the tip of his tongue to call off the negotiations until he had a full explanation of the purpose of Merlin’s ruse, but Merlin’s eyes begged his patience.

“My name is Merlin, Sire.” Merlin bowed, his smile tight and apologetic. “Only the druids call me Emrys.”

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. “And tell me Merlin, what _talents_ do you have to offer Camelot.” His voice was crisp, echoing in the silent room; their audience seemed to be holding their breath.

Merlin walked across the room to stand by the table, his tone was calm and steady, trying for reassuring Arthur imagined. “Sire, why don’t we sit and discuss what will be beneficial to both our peoples.”

Arthur didn’t move.

Merlin took a step closer to him, turning his back to block out the others from the conversation, though they had to be able to hear everything. “Arthur, please,” Merlin said under his breath. “We can talk after and I’ll answer your questions. But I think you’ll agree that these negotiations should proceed.”

Arthur pursed his lips and swallowed back his temper. Had he been the young prince from only a couple of years ago, he’d be storming out just to leave Merlin flustered and embarrassed. But he was King. And he could show some patience and maturity, if it meant his kingdom would reap the benefits. So he sat.

Merlin looked to Algaar who nodded. “Many men would kill for the power to control the weather, to order the skies to hail upon a rival kingdoms’ crops or to command a fog to blind an approaching army and lead them to their deaths.”

His gaze was piercing as he spoke, and in that moment Arthur didn’t doubt a truly terrible power was held in Merlin’s fingertips. Beside him, Leon shifted but didn’t look away from Merlin.

Merlin spoke directly to Arthur as he said, “That is not what I’m offering.”

Algaar cleared his throat and for the first time Arthur saw a crack in his seemingly endless optimism.

“So what are you offering,” Arthur asked.

“I’m offering you what you are looking for, Sire -- knowledge. With _understanding_ comes better ways to work with the earth. The earth speaks to those who know how to listen. I can direct your people on the best times to plant, best times to harvest, when and where the soil is most fertile.” Merlin looked around the room, catching each eye and finally settling on Arthur, his face went soft. “And when the sun is burning field after field with no respite, I _can_ make it rain. But manipulating weather, like manipulating people can have costs you don’t intend. It is a field of magic that needs to be used with the greatest respect.” He paused, then added quietly, “I needed to know you were capable of that respect.”

Arthur chose to ignore that for the moment, and tucked it away to think on later. He turned to Algaar. “I’ll need to meet with my council to discuss what has been offered here today.”

“Of course,” Algaar said, despite the disappointment clearly etched on his face.

“We will meet now in the antechamber,” Arthur said to Leon. “I’d like to give the druids our decision by morning.”

When Arthur rose from his chair, his advisors stood as one.

Dalga’s face was stern, but she nodded to Arthur. “Until tomorrow then.”

“Sire,” Gaius said, as the door closed behind their small group, “my discussions with Lodom and a number of other druids these past few days have gone extremely well. A lot of their basic healing spells are even within my limited powers of magic, rusty as they are. I do believe, with their teaching we can save lives even with only me and John. And more if a couple of druids volunteered to remain here until we find one of our own people who steps forward to admit their talents.”

“We will encounter resistance,” Leon noted. “Not everyone will allow magic to be performed on them.”

“That is true. But dying men often have weak resolves when the cure if offered to them.” Gaius said. “Time will tell. I don’t expect this to be smooth.”

“It won’t be. But it feels right.” Arthur relaxed a fraction at hearing Gaius’s tempered confidence. While all the talk of incorporating magic into the daily lives of Camelot’s people was simple in theory, hearing the practical applications of it made it real to Arthur in a way that had his heart racing at the reality of it. “Geoffrey, what of the crops?”

Geoffrey stroked his long white beard, looking up at Arthur from below his impressive eyebrows like Arthur was a young boy still. “I’ve reviewed their methods and compared their yields to our records,” he said gruffly. “If we can be half so successful in our harvests as they claim to be, even in years without drought, then our stores will be plentiful.”

“Thank you, Geoffrey. That is exactly what I wanted to hear. Can you draw up the treaty papers as we’ve discussed. I believe we are all ready to begin moving forward. If there are no other concerns, you are all dismissed.”

“Sire.” Leon touched his sleeve as the others departed. “I have to ask. What of this Emrys? Your interactions with him have me unable to discern his character. Do you feel we can trust him?”

Arthur thought a moment, unsure what to say. He shifted in his chair and a lump in his jacket pocket dug into his side. With a wry smile he pulled out the apple Merlin had ‘stolen’ for him that morning. He turned it in his hand, mind looping on Leon’s question.

He took a bite; the fruit was crisp and sweet in this mouth. He stood, and walked out without answering.

~o~

Arthur pushed open the door to his chambers and wasn’t surprised to see Merlin already there, knelt by the fire as he had been that first night. His druid robes were gone, and he was back in his simple blue tunic and breeches.

“You lied to me,” he said before Merlin had even spotted him.

Merlin scrambled to his feet. “I didn’t.”

Arthur shook his head, unable to fathom the depth of this man’s cheek. “You led me to believe you were this... _seeshana_.” Arthur looked over at the bed, rubbing his face to wipe away the flush as he remembered.

“I was acting as a seeshana!” Merlin stepped forward hands on his hips. “A seeshana is an ancient tradition and a very well respected role in the negotiation process.”

Arthur scowled, unimpressed.

“Fine.” Merlin’s arms flew to the air. “I had an ulterior motive, so I volunteered myself to be a seeshana.”

“You tainted the negotiations,” Arthur said, not willing to drop this as easily as Merlin seemed to expect. “That jeopardizes the whole treaty.”

Merlin blanched. At a loss for words, he moved to the window and looked out onto the courtyard. Looking crestfallen, Merlin began quietly, “I just... I had to know. I would not agree to use my powers to help Camelot unless I found the king to be trustworthy.” He went on, pacing. “Algaar was confident. But he is very... optimistic. He is blinded by his visions sometimes. But he understood my hesitation so he agreed to allow me to come to my own conclusion by spending time with the king in a more intimate setting.”

“By seducing me.” Arthur’s icy tone sliced through Merlin’s confession, and Merlin’s head snap up to meet his eye.

“I wasn’t...”

Arthur glared, incredulous.

“I didn’t mean to,” Merlin amended, voice laced with shame. “I overstepped, but there was no ulterior motive in that. I had already made my decision to agree to your demands before we --” Merlin waved his hands in the air, the pink of his cheeks saying more than his words could. “That part was my own weakness.”

Arthur went over to the fire, leaning against the hearth as he stared into the flames.

“I _am_ sorry. Please don’t punish both our people by revoking this treaty.”

He heard the shuffle of Merlin’s boots as he approached.

“I can help your people,” Merlin said and Arthur could feel the change in the air at his side as Merlin hovered, like he wanted to lay a hand on Arthur’s shoulder but wasn’t sure. “I _will_ help them. You were nothing like what I expected.”

After Arthur let the silence stretch too long, Merlin broke it with an, “Arthur?”

“You’re not allowed to call me that you know,” Arthur said.

“I can help your people, Sire.”

“That’s the first time you’ve said ‘Sire’ without it sounding wrong on your tongue.” Arthur peeked over his shoulder and gave Merlin a tentative smile.

“I like Arthur better.”

Arthur turned, grinning. “Not many people call me that. It does sounds more natural than your attempts at any title.”

Merlin smiled back, a pale relative of the true beaming smile Arthur had seen that week. He reached over Arthur’s shoulder and retrieved the golden beetle George had set on display over the hearth.

“Algaar saw you were trustworthy, that together we would be great.”

“We?”

“Um. You and … Emrys.”

“Emrys?”

Merlin sighed. “He saw that we would be a partnership that would benefit many people.” He set the beetle back onto the mantle.

“He called me the Once and Future King,” Arthur said, his eye on the shimmer of the tiny gold piece.

Merlin huffed quietly. “Isn’t it enough that he foretold your greatness in one lifetime? As I said, Algaar gets too caught up in his visions. No man should know too much of his destiny.”

“And you don’t believe in destiny.”

“I have hope. I needed to see for myself though. I saw it in your choices and the way you treated me, the way your servants spoke of you.”

Arthur turned; Merlin was so close his shoulder brushed Merlin’s chest as he moved.

“And when you spoke of your people’s suffering, I knew.” Merlin’s eyes were bright, but he didn’t look away. “Arthur, it would be an honour to serve you.”

Arthur scanned Merlin’s face for any kind of deceit, but found none. “Apology accepted.”

Merlin’s eyes crinkled at the words and finally Arthur was treated to the ridiculously wide smile he’d come to expect from Merlin.

“Thank goodness,” Merlin said. “Algaar would’ve been insufferable if I’d messed up our destiny.”

“And all because I was too attractive to resist?” Arthur said, feeling the tension of the moment finally dissolve into their already familiar banter. “Really, Merlin.”

Merlin’s shoulders shook as he held back his laughter. “Ah, and there’s the side of the king I didn’t get to see -- his enormous ego.”

Before Arthur could reply, Merlin lunged forward, slapped his hands to Arthur’s cheeks and captured his lips. The kiss was fleeting, a shocking press to his mouth, melting whatever quip that Arthur had been about to say, and left his mind blank.

“Is that okay?” Merlin asked, belatedly. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a bit now.”

Arthur chuckled. “I suppose if you can’t resist.” He backed Merlin up until his thighs hit the table. “And now that you’re not a servant.’

“I was never a --”

“Or a bedwarmer.”

“A seeshana is not --”

Arthur cut him off, pressing their bodies together with Merlin trapped against the table, their hips lining up just right. He kissed Merlin. Neither showed any hesitation this time as Merlin’s lips parted and Arthur’s tongue darted in for a first delicious exploration. The fire was hot at Arthur’s back, making him wish for less clothes as the kiss grew sloppy and their bodies began to rock together.

Running his fingers up Merlin’s forearms, tracking the tattoos with his fingers, Arthur hit the rolled sleeve at Merlin’s elbow and was overcome with the need to see the rest. What else on Merlin’s body was painted in black, what was it like to look upon the entire canvas and not just this small corner visible to the public? The laces of Merlin’s tunic untied themselves, revealing a tease of dark hair and line of ink hinting at what lay beneath.

“Are you still trying to seduce me?” Arthur asked, his hips jutting forward. Merlin moaned at the contact.

“I was never trying to seduce you,” Merlin said, helping Arthur tug his shirt up and off.

Arthur stepped back enough to appreciate the curving black lines on the pale skin of Merlin’s chest. The tattoos travelled in one thin line up Merlin’s arms, across his shoulder in an ornate winding pattern like vines grown wild upon his skin. “Well you failed spectacularly.”

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered into his mouth as they came together again. They fumbled their way to the bed, barely breaking kisses as they bumped furniture, stubbed toes. They landed on the mattress, finally, with Merlin on top and a trail of scattered clothing that Arthur hadn’t even remembered removing.

Merlin straddled his waist, rolling his hips against Arthur’s aching cock until he was breathless and begging him to stop just long enough that they could do this properly. With a wave of his fingers and a flash of gold, Merlin had his laces undone. The look he shot Arthur was pure cheek, but Arthur couldn’t find it in himself to care. Not when Merlin was stripping his own breeches and exposing inch after inch of tattooed skin.

He’d have to remember to ask Merlin to explain what each meant. His favourite was a set of three spirals, connecting just above Merlin’s navel. Arthur sat up to press his lips to it, tracing with his tongue. It shimmered under Arthur’s touch.

Merlin writhed. “Okay, now it’s you who needs to stop. I have to...”

Arthur grinned as the half-empty pot of Gaius’ salve suddenly appeared in Merlin’s hand.

“All right?”

Arthur replied, voice rough, “That will be fine.”

He watched as Merlin prepared himself with the ointment, and the scent of almond oil and wintergreen took on a new memory. He wondered if he’d ever be able to endure John applying it to his back without his mind flashing to this.

Arthur traced the markings on Merlin’s hipbones, watching with half-lidded eyes as Merlin contorted his body to find the best angle to finger himself. Merlin’s cock bobbed with each thrust into himself, dripping pre-come onto Arthur stomach.

“Enjoying the show?”

“Committing it to memory.”

Merlin’s eyes pressed tight, his hand going still as though he needed to gather his control. He pulled his fingers free and Arthur choked at the unexpect tight grip of Merlin wrapping a salve-coated hand around his cock.

“I don’t plan for this to be a one time thing,” Merlin said, lining up Arthur’s cock so the tip grazed his slick hole.

He pressed down a little, his eyes fluttering shut as the tip slipped inside. Arthur’s world exploded with pleasure at the tight, tight heat swallowing the head of his cock. He couldn’t let this be a one time thing, he realised as Merlin impaled himself inch by inch until he was fully seated. Merlin straddled his waist, his pale marked chest giving him an otherworldly glow in the candlelight.

Slowly, he rose, and the delicious drag stole the air from Arthur’s lungs; Merlin sank again and Arthur forgot how to breathe altogether.

He grabbed Merlin’s hips in a bruising grip and quickened the rhythm with a snap of his hips. Merlin cried out and Arthur’s world tilted, needing to hear it again. Merlin’s arse clenched around him, greedy and clinging as Merlin’s back arched with each rise and fall. They fought for control. Merlin’s hands fell to Arthur chest, trying for a slow pace and deep thrusts but Arthur was having none of that. He pulled Merlin down until he was close enough to kiss, then bending his knees and digging his heels into the mattress, he thrust upward, too wild and shallow but he didn’t care.

Merlin covered his jaw with open mouth kisses until he’d had enough and bit Arthur’s shoulder hard enough to loosen Arthur’s grip and sat up again and they both gasped as the improved angle. Merlin’s thighs trembled with each rise and fall, but his rhythm stayed steady, and his gaze never left Arthur’s.

Arthur had fucked men before. The idea wasn’t new, but not like this, the kisses, the staring into each other eyes... It was nothing like rutting into a knight on a winter’s hunt, where the mead and the campfire could only warm a man so much that shared furs and body heat meant survival, where they mounted each other like animals in the dark of night just to find a quick release. This was nothing like that. This made his heart pound, wanting it to last, needing longer to memorise the play of shadows on the sharp cut of Merlin’s cheekbones, the sleek line of his neck and the jut of his hip bone.

Arthur’s hands were slick with sweat as they wrapped around Merlin’s cock, pulling in quick tugs until Merlin threw his head back and cried out. He coated Arthur’s chest in strips of white and his muscles spasmed, clenching around Arthur, stealing away his fragile hold of his control. Merlin rocked his hips, milking his own orgasm before Arthur finally took over, snapping his hips up and working Merlin like a spent rag doll for another dozen thrusts until Arthur saw white and tumbled over the edge.

Merlin collapsed with a groan, as though he’d barely held it together long enough for Arthur to spend himself. Arthur winced as he felt his dick slip free as Merlin rolled off and onto the bed. They trembled, side by side, coming down from the buzz. It seemed neither knew quite what to say after that. Shivering, Merlin sat up and tried to slip from the bed but Arthur grabbed his wrist.

“Stay,” Arthur said.

Merlin stared at the fingers curled at his wrists like the request meant more than Arthur intended it to. “I think I might,” he said finally, and he curled up next to Arthur, pulling the blanket over them both until they were tangled in a tight cocoon of warmth.

~o~

Arthur stood at the top of the stairs, Leon on one side, Merlin on the other. Below, a crowd gathered in the courtyard to see the druids departure. A line of knights still split the onlookers from the druids, but Arthur had faith it was only a precaution.

Algaar helped Dalga onto a small mare Arthur had insisted they take for her journey. Once she was seated, Algaar stepped back towards the stairs and Arthur descended to meet him halfway.

“We are ready.” Algaar surveyed the group of travellers. Among them was a contingent of knights to escort the group safely back to their lands. They were to remain with the druids as a gesture of goodwill. In exchange, Merlin, Lodom and two other druids were staying in Camelot.

“Farewell and thank you,” Arthur said, clasping Algaar’s arm in heartfelt appreciation.

“And you.” Algaar nodded to Arthur and then to Merlin, who had appeared at Arthur’s side. Their shoulders brushed as Algaar looked from one to the other. He smiled. “As it is meant to be,” he said, cryptic.

The ban on magic had been lifted a fortnight before and slowly Camelot was changing. Gaius had given the stable master, Edgar, an enchanted poultice for his fever, and word had spread quickly of his miraculous recovery. The kind old man was well loved by both nobles and peasants, and it had gone a long way in easing the tensions the days after the ban had been revoked. Merlin’s simple ways and easy smile were welcomed by the farmers they had ridden out to visit. He’d yet to cast a single spell; he’d only felt the earth, rubbing it between his fingers and directed the farmers which fields were best for corn, which for wheat. One had turned them away, slamming the door in their faces. Merlin had simply shrugged and they’d ridden on.

As the last of the druid party disappeared from view, Merlin opened his palm to show off a butterfly with shimmering blue wings. Despite Merlin’s magic being used regularly around the castle, it still made Arthur’s skin tingle in wonder. He watched as Merlin lifted the butterfly to the sky and set it free. His eyes followed it across the courtyard where he saw a little peasant girl standing with her mother, a flower clutched in her hand as it had been nearly three weeks before. The girl squealed in delight when the butterfly landed on her arm.

“Is this your plan, then?” Arthur asked, well out of earshot of anyone. “Sway each member of my kingdom one by one until they give in to your charms.”

“If that is what it takes, Sire.” Merlin’s eyes crinkled. “I’ll start with the king.”

“You can start with the king’s _feet_.”Arthur bumped his shoulder with Merlin’s, trying to bite back his grin. “They are aching right now.”

“I could teach George how to--”

“No.” Arthur cut him off before the image could take form in his head. “Really, really, no.”

Merlin snorted and knocked his shoulder back. Arthur shot him a grin.

On the far side of courtyard, the girl tapped her mother’s sleeve, motioning to the glittering butterfly as it fluttered between them before it landed in her mother’s hand. Arthur held his breath, awaiting the reaction but at the pure joy in her daughter’s laughter, the mother’s stern face melted. When she looked up to her king and his new court sorcerer, her face held a tentative curiosity.

Arthur hoped these were the first small steps to the future Algaar had seen.

-FIN-

**Author's Note:**

> [back to LJ post, if you would rather leave a comment there](http://marguerite-26.livejournal.com/673219.html)
> 
> .

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Treaty Negotiations](https://archiveofourown.org/works/452311) by [erica_schall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/erica_schall/pseuds/erica_schall)




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